


Little Black Dress

by CrackingLamb



Series: Just Like Fire - Prompt Fills for La'vise Lavellan [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Established Relationship, F/M, Prompt Fill, Sexual Content, Solas POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb
Summary: "I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger andsexthat permeates these events" - SolasLa'vise is stunning.  Solas has been drinking.  It's quite a combination.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: Just Like Fire - Prompt Fills for La'vise Lavellan [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901281
Comments: 18
Kudos: 24





	Little Black Dress

**Author's Note:**

> It's my third anniversary on AO3! Celebrate with me with a slightly smutty oneshot.

To look at her, one would never think that she had not even seen a quarter of a century. To watch her weave in and out of the crowd, never losing her balance, never tipping her hand, one would think she had been born to the Game. To watch her in the dark corners, slipping unseen into places she did not belong, one would think she was nothing more than a wraith. To listen to her speaking with these mortals, hiding behind their gilded masks, hanging on her every word as if it was a new canticle for their Chant, one would think she had truly been blessed by the hand of Andraste.

Solas, of course, knew differently. Knowing, however, did not change his opinion that she was the most incredible thing he'd seen in many, _many_ years.

La'vise skipped past him where he leaned – to all eyes completely relaxed and at ease – against a column in the antechamber between the ballroom and the garden. She flashed him a grin, but even from where he slouched he could see the strain in the corners of her eyes behind the domino she wore. _Cheeky da'len_ , he mused. She'd found one that looked rather like a wolf's face, all in black. It was simple silk, unadorned by jewel or sequin. Her brilliant green eyes stood out from within it like veilfire. It was an effective ploy.

More effective still was her dress.

Again, it was unadorned by needless decoration. It clung to her like second skin, draped loosely only over her breasts to draw the eye. The rest of her torso was fitted close in a leather corset, and the sleeves covered her arms only to the elbow. It was an unrelieved black as deep as her mask, and to see it from the front or back, it appeared demure. The skirt hung low in points, nearly to her ankles. But it was split entirely up each side, freeing her legs for easy movement. It would have been scandalous if not for the blood red wraps she wore beneath it from ankle to hip. Equally red were the narrow strips of wrapping on her forearms, a clever disguise for gauntlets he hadn't seen since a bygone era. Her only concession to the sensibilities of these humans were the black slippers on her feet.

As much as it reminded him of what Madame de Fer similarly wore, the stunning combination pronounced clearly that the Inquisitor was elven and would not hide that fact among humans. The sash of office around her waist was a thinner affair than anyone else's among her people tonight, but that did not in any way detract from the powerful presence she evoked in a sea of pale greens and soft yellows and washed out blues. She was a half bloodied shadow among the glittering jewels of Orlais.

Those glittering jewels should take care not to forget it.

Solas felt a dark smile cross his face. Tonight belonged to a woman who burned. If they were not careful, these posturing oafs, they would all be consumed by her flames. He had not felt such pride in another in a long time. Millennia, in fact.

“Anything to report?” she asked, flitting by his unassuming corner again.

“Not at present. I am enjoying watching you more than...” He made an absent, dismissing gesture at the masquerade ball at large.

Even with the mask on her face, he could tell she made a sour expression. “Solas, you're _supposed_ to be keeping an eye out for things.”

“Alas, I am in poor position to overhear conversations, and too visible to be mistaken for a servant. Men who would otherwise ignore my presence as an elf are too cautious of my presence in uniform. You would have better luck asking the Iron Bull. He is the novelty here, and that has its own way of loosening tongues.”

“You're sounding a bit too pompous to be taken for a servant too,” she teased. “Have you been sampling the wine?”

He smirked down at her. “Perhaps.”

“Not too much, I hope. I have a feeling I will need you and your staff soon enough.”

A jolt went through him, along with an almost unbearable urge to say something shockingly inappropriate for public. She must have guessed; her eyes lit up like coals and she grinned at him. She had an uncanny ability to bring out the worst, whimsical side of him. He attempted to rein in his lascivious thoughts and look more severe. “The servants have been content to keep my glass full, but it would take more than human crafted alcohol to disrupt my judgment.”

“Hmm.” She reached over and took his glass from his hand and sampled it herself. A light sheen of perspiration shone on her skin – she'd been exerting herself somewhere – and what little of her cheeks he could see below her mask were flushed. Before she finished, he touched the glass and a haze of frost covered it. She held it under her lips for a moment, a secretive smile creasing them, before she upended the glass's contents. “Much better cold.”

“I agree.” She handed him the empty glass and stood for a moment to collect herself. “Where have you been running off to that has you so overheated?”

“The upper gallery of the garden. I was able to unlock that library door from inside. Had to climb the trellis in the garden. Dorian distracted the crowd for me.”

“And what did you find there?”

“Not sure yet. I'm waiting for a better time to go back. I know if I disappear too long, someone will notice.”

“True. You are rather unforgettable this evening, ma siusha.” He shouldn't have let it slip and mentally cursed himself. The endearment rolled too easily off his tongue of late. But she stood taller at his praise, more confident. He smiled down at her. “You look wonderful, if I have not already mentioned that tonight.”

“Thank you, Solas,” she said quietly. “Will you come with me, back to the library? Two sets of hands will go faster.”

“Of course.”

He followed her at a discreet distance across the long ballroom and into the vestibule. Here and there she would stop, tucking herself into shadows. Eavesdropping. While she was occupied he cast the faintest glimmer of concealment over her, careful not to draw too much from the Fade. The Veil was thin in Halamshiral, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by him. Neither was the implication of _why_ such a thing had occurred lost on him. Too many battles had been waged in this place. He doubted rather highly that the once elven city had seen its last battles yet.

Her gossip gathered, La'vise moved off again, crossing the vestibule and going up a set of stairs to the library. When no one was looking, he followed her, his longer stride catching up to her quickly. He felt no need to point out that watching her climb the stairs had been riveting. He gave himself a mental shake. Distractions would not help anyone.

Once inside, they closed the doors behind them, cutting off the noise of the masquerade and she slumped against the nearest wall for a moment, rolling the tension from her shoulders and neck and measuring her breath. It had to be difficult laced as tightly into stays as she was. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Solas. I just want this to be over.”

“That is not what I meant. Turn around,” he said as he came closer to her. “At least for now, let me loosen that.”

The mask covered her face sufficiently for the Game, but he knew her well enough to tell that she was raising an eyebrow at him. A dimple appeared in her cheek, a flash of white teeth gleamed as she grinned. “Under normal circumstances I would ask how you know to loosen a woman's stays so well. But these are not normal circumstances. And I'm already quite familiar with how quickly you can undress me.”

He gave her a soft chuckle as his fingers made short work of the laces. He tugged them open enough that she could breathe deeply without interference. They stayed there, enjoying the closeness as long as they could. His hand landed on her hip, his pinky slipping below the divided hem of her dress. There was the smallest gap between dress and leg wrap and he'd found it. She didn't move away, so he pulled off his gloves and touched her bare skin again.

“Solas...” she whispered.

“A moment, ma siusha. Only a moment.” Her wraps ended high enough on her thigh to give her full coverage, but left her able to pivot her hips freely. Above them he felt only skin. Later, he would admit the wine had made him less careful than he was accustomed to, but right then, all he wanted to hear was her soft intake of air as he touched her. His palm slid under the dress, encountering the tiniest bit of obstruction in the form of smallclothes. It was a wonder she was even covered.

“A wicked choice, Inquisitor. Whatever do you have planned this evening?” he whispered in her ear. Looking over her shoulder and down the front of the draped neckline, he could see it tremble in time to her heartbeat. Rapid and shallow breaths, a flutter of silk at her breast. She was soft and pliant under his fingers. The scrap of her smalls was easily pushed aside.

“Tel'venavis,” she begged, leaning against his frame. She shifted on her feet, coiling one leg around his. He modified his own stance behind her to take the weight of her on it, and dipped his toying fingers in a way that made her gasp. _There_ was the sound he wanted to hear, followed by a hum of pleasure. They did not have long and he should not be doing this, but the urge would not be denied while she was so relaxed in his arms. He could tell himself it was a benefit, that a clear mind would only help her focus later.

He knew it would be a lie. He was selfishly greedy, nothing more. He pulled his hand tight to her, cupping her fully and raising her on her toes with the sensation. The knuckle of his thumb found her, made her squirm and pant unevenly.

“And you call me wicked!” she accused in a soft, airy voice, too drenched in bliss to sound stern.

He didn't answer with words, only gestures. She writhed against him, nearly falling over as she sought completion from his touch. His free arm banded around her waist, feeling the leather flex only slightly. No wonder she couldn't breathe in it; it was boned with steel. This was no mere convention of fashion, it was armor. She froze in his arms, her breath caught. His long fingers could feel each flutter and spasm he had drawn from her.

The first bell sounded in the ballroom, a deep gong muffled by the walls and distance. Her hiss was small, but certain. There would be no lingering in afterglow, not when they still had so much to do. He withdrew his hand and uncoiled her leg from his, pushing back his own rampant need. She straightened herself out and turned in time to see him lick his fingers clean. The green fire in her eyes was lost to blown pupils and he took just a second to exaggerate while she watched.

“You're a menace,” she growled.

“You are not complaining,” he retorted.

She shook her head at him and turned her back again. “Lace me up, Solas. We have work to do.”

“Ma nuvenin.” He tugged the laces hard, making her body jerk. The low gasp made him smirk. He knew, by now, how she liked him to take the reins this way. Holding the laces in his hands he spared a thought that currently that was quite literally. He tied them tight, making sure no folds of the dress were caught in them. He retrieved his dropped glove and made himself back into the manservant everyone here believed he was. Then it was a race to gather what could be found in the library.

They emerged back into the vestibule just as the second bell rang. La'vise's grin was impudent as she handed him a bundle of papers. Then she dashed away, back towards the ballroom. He followed at a more sedate pace. No one was looking for _him_ , after all. He watched her talk with a woman in a dark dress, the pair of them like ravens among this flock of pigeons. They spoke, then parted, and La'vise disappeared from view, once more the Inquisitor.

Solas found Leliana and handed her the bundle of papers they'd found. The Nightingale's eyes were searching and he met them neutrally. “Be careful, Solas.”

“With what, pray tell?”

“Our Inquisitor.”

“I do not take your meaning.”

“Many are fooled by your cultivated facade of humility. I am not one of them.”

“And neither is she.” He waited to see if there was more judgment forthcoming, but Leliana just narrowed her eyes and began to thumb through the blackmail evidence they'd gathered. He walked away from her, careful to keep his demeanor as humble as he was pretending. It wouldn't do to have Leliana's suspicions become fact, as much as it rankled.

And when La'vise called to him and the Iron Bull to meet her and Dorian at the entrance to the servant's wing, no one was the wiser that they'd shared much more than a glass of wine and contents of her little black dress.

**Author's Note:**

> Ma siusha - My sweet/sweetness. A constructed endearment from siu - sweet/tasty and the suffix -sha - meaning 'as characterized by' from a noun or adjective  
> Tel'venavis - Don't stop, with maybe more emphasis being 'don't you DARE stop'  
> Ma nuvenin - As you say
> 
> Courtesy of canon and Project Elvhen, thank you Fenxshiral.


End file.
